A month ago, when the trees up on the hills were showing the first whispers of autumn, I looked upon the weary and gentle face of Rembrandt. I returned his steady gaze, as a full almost frantic summer winds to an end, with one of wonder and perhaps hunger.His Self portrait as the apostle Paul hung in an exhibit of works traveling from the Riksmuseum. Of the 80 pieces in the exhibit, a scant 8 were Rembrandts and only three of those were paintings. The museum was packed full of people dutifully taking their medicine, audio tour headsets herding them from piece to piece. A little patience put me in front of a piece uninterrupted, struck dumb with wonder. Here was the man whose work is amongst those which most exemplifies what art and painting is. It isn't a tedious display of craft. It isn't a grocery list of information laboriously and systematically recreated in two dimensions. It's expression. It's intelligence. It's that yearning that makes us human.

Standing there, the anxiety of the past months weren't gone. They were put into focus. I've barely painted since June, but for good reason. Summer was over.In June, hammers were swung and the first lumber of the new studio was laid. Progress was fast, but some mistakes were made in the rush of that weekend. We weren't, after all, building a barn. Work continues today, slow, but steady.

In July, I weathered the hot tongue of midwestern heat as I rode to and from the big BMW national rally, held this year in Wisconsin. The miles on the bike don't mean as much as they used to. I was supposed to be out on a bike ride, reveling in curves, mountain passes and a chance to let my mind wander. Instead the highlights of some five thousand miles of riding were meeting the people, spending time with friends, new and old, that I see too infrequently. These are people that I know through the motorcycle, people with whom I share a passion. Coming from very different lives, we stretch each other with our different pains and different promises. But it was still good riding.

Somewhere in Colorado

Independence pass

The Big Horns

There are many more photos. I will post a gallery someday.A few weeks ago, my wife, myself, and a team of Team in Training cyclists did a little 102 mile bicycle ride. We'd trained together for four months. Two coaches, two mentors (of which I was one), and a dozen or so riders working together to achieve this goal and raise money for the Leukemia Lymphoma society. The smiles and laughter at the end of that very long day told us that we'd more than done what we'd hope to.

Kim, one of our team mates, making her way up a big hill at the end of a long day.

Today, I'm pausing to take in some progress. It's taken a concerted effort, but with the help of a friend or two and even a father, the building is nearly dried in. The structure is essentially complete. This coming week, the shingles go on the roof and the windows get installed. If, and it's a weight "if", things line up as they seem to, I will have a dry insulated working space before thanksgiving.

I've said it before, but it bears repeating. This is a life changing thing, this studio.I'd avoided writing this entry. There's too much to talk about. Too many things happening and happened. And then there's the guilt of not making a painting of note in recent days. But they're coming. The studio trumps everything right now. Wish me luck.p.s. then there was that scalding hot lap in the BMW M5 in South Carolina while on assignment for the BMW club. I'll post something about that as soon as the article is published.

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